Everything's Made To Be Broken
by 0hMyStars
Summary: AU: Everything in Clara Oswald's life appears to be falling apart. Enter John 'The Doctor' Smith, handyman. She's hoping he'll make her life easier, but, in reality, it might end up getting a little more complicated.
1. Chapter One

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Ok so this is my first attempt at a multi chapter fic. It's a pretty slow start (sorry about that) but I've got a lot of plans so please stick with it. Constructive criticism and advice is most appreciated, so please review.**_

_**Just to get the AU circumstances straight, everyone's human and there is no sci-fi stuff going on. It's gonna be pretty domestic and very fluffy. You have been warned.**_

_**Xx**_

_**[Disclaimer: I regrettably do not own Doctor Who]**_

* * *

"Angie! Artie! Get down here!"

Clara Oswald was running late. Which is to say that the entire Maitland household was running late. She was still in her pyjamas, rushing around the kitchen in an attempt to make up time. As Artie bounced in with a disgruntled looking Angie in tow, Clara flung two bowls of cereal on to the table for them.

"Toaster's still broken then?" Angie groaned.

"And the oven, and the microwave?" Artie added.

"Unless they've all magically fixed themselves, yes. Your dad asked me to find someone to fix... well, everything. You can live on cereal for a little longer."

Angie made a noise of annoyance and stomped over to the fridge, pulling out the milk.

"I wouldn't drink that if I were-"

Too late. Milk erupted from Angie's mouth and nose. She gagged several time before spluttering, "The milk's off."

"Yup," Clara agreed supressing a laugh. "Fridge's broken. Now finish your breakfast, we're late!" And with that she raced upstairs.

Within minutes she was careering back down with a book in one hand and a phone in the other.

"Homework," she said, tossing the book to Angie who rolled her eyes and disappeared outside.

"Mobile," she continued, handing it to Artie with her eyebrows raised.

"Car keys?" he countered. Clara dug into her pocket and dangled them in front of his face as she pushed him out of the front door.

* * *

"Please read to the end of chapter four by next lesson. I would tell you that you could read ahead if you so wished, but let's be honest; none of you are going to do that. Off you go."

As her students raced out of the door Clara began to pack up her things. After a long morning on an empty stomach, lunchtime couldn't have come fast enough. She was just about to grab her jacket when she heard a knock on the classroom door.

"Miss Oswald?"

Clara briefly buried her head in her jacket and whimpered before turning around.

"Hello," she sighed with a not-all-that-convincing smile. She was more than a little surprised to see a dark haired man lingering in the doorway. He was in his mid-thirties, and looked like he hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite a while. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Nicholas Latimer, Digby and Francesca's father. I was wondering if we could talk?"

"I'd be more than happy to but I haven't eaten all day. I'm just going around the corner so we could walk and talk if you like." She shrugged on her jacket and started walking toward the door. He gazed at her with his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to speak. He suddenly noticed her close proximity, which seemed to make him nervous. He quickly stepped back from the doorway to let her through.

"Lead the way." She began walking towards the exit and he hurried to get level with her.

"What was it you wanted to discuss?"

"Well I don't know if you're aware but my ex-wife passed away recently-"

"I am. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you. I appreciate that, but we had been apart for a long time. We weren't on good terms. I'm more worried about the children. They both talk about you. I was wondering if you had any idea how they're coping…"

"Honestly Mr Latimer, I wouldn't be too worried. Digby always seems pretty upbeat. As much as can be expected anyhow. He'd got a great group of friend who are really supporting him, taking his mind of things. Francesca's been a little withdrawn but that's completely normal. I was prepared to give her some leeway on her work but she hasn't needed it. I think she's throwing herself into it. That's good. It's good to have something to focus on."

They had reached the shop. Clara turned to look at Mr Latimer. He still looked uneasy.

"They're strong kids. Very strong and very bright. What they need more than anything right now is for you to be there for them."

"Thank you Miss Oswald." He ran his hand through his hair, processing.

"Clara." She gave him a sympathetic smile. "I'll keep an eye on them."

* * *

Clara walked back to school with a sandwich, her mind bouncing between her next lesson, the Latimer children and the long list of broken appliances at home. She saw the old police box that marked the halfway point, just as she did every day. Since they had fallen out of use, this particular one had been adopted by students for a discreet rendezvous. Clara had less than eloquently dubbed it a 'snogging booth'. It was also used by locals as a bulletin board, and was coated with flyers and posters. As she approached it a strong gust of wind tore a flyer from the wood and blew it directly into Clara's face. She stumbled, wrestled it off and glanced at it.

"John Smith. The Doctor. Handyman."

Clara smirked and pulled out her phone.


	2. Chapter Two

_**Author's Note:**_

_**So this is still in the annoyingly slow build up phase, but I have to have this stuff happen before I can actually get going. Please, please, please stick with me, and please review.**_

_**Xx**_

* * *

"This is looking mighty familiar," whined Angie as Clara once again placed a bowl of dry cereal in front of her.

"Déjà vu all over again." Normally she would argue with her, but the truth was that recently Clara was feeling like she was just going through the motions. As much as she loved her job, and her surrogate family, she couldn't help feeling stuck. Luckily before she could get too stuck in that thought, the doorbell rang.

"Well that's new," Artie offered. Clara stuck her tongue out at him playfully before heading towards the door.

"He-llo," she said as she opened it to find a fidgety man with a brunette quiff and an alarming chin, who seemed to be looking over her head. He looked momentarily puzzled, before adjusting his gaze down by about half a foot. He then began grinning like an idiot.

"Clara!" He exclaimed. "Clara Oswald?"

Clara raised her eyebrows in an expression somewhere between shock and bewilderment.

"Do you remember me?"

"No… Should I? Who are you?"

"I'm The Doctor." Clara still looked confused. "John Smith." She shook her head. "Handyman," he sighed. "We spoke on the phone?"

"Oh. That was you? Right. Sorry. I thought you were coming this afternoon."

"Ah. Yes. I've always struggled with timing."

"Clearly ours is off already. I have to go." She turned and headed back to the kitchen to pick up her bags.

"Who's the man in the doorway?" Angie asked. "And why is he looking at you like you're famous?"

She whipped her head around to look at him. His eyes widened and he quickly began to stare intently at his shoes.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Artie wondered aloud.

"No he is not. Will you please go and get in the car."

"Bye Clara's boyfriend," he said politely, as Clara ushered both of them outside. She then turned back to The Doctor.

"Sorry. Right. The oven and the fridge are the priority but the microwave would be good too. I'm sorry to leave you like this. We'll be back around four. Thank you so much." She rattled off at high speed.

"You don't slow down do you?" He asked in awe. She smirked.

"Never."

"Me neither."

* * *

The Doctor was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen floor, holding a bright green screwdriver, surrounded by what used to be a radio when he heard the front door open. Artie bounced in and sat down opposite him, smiling pleasantly.

"Hello. We didn't really get to meet earlier. I'm Arthur Maitland, but you can call me Artie."

Artie help out his hand. While some where phased by his exuberance, The Doctor certainly wasn't. He shook Artie's hand carefully.

"Hello Artie. I'm John Smith, but you can call me The Doctor." It was then that Clara walked in, laden with shopping bags

"What have you done?" she groaned as she saw the mess.

"Well I fixed the fridge and the microwave, and I'm waiting on a part for the oven, so I decided to have a go with the radio."

"The radio wasn't broken!"

"Oh." The Doctor looked rather sheepish under Clara's gaze, causing Artie to giggle. He quickly stopped when Clara's gaze shifted to him.

"Well just put it back together, ok?" He nodded profusely, and she started to unload the shopping.

"Can I help?" asked Artie.

"You can help me," suggested Clara. Artie didn't look too impressed, but he got up nonetheless.

"Why are you called 'The Doctor'?" he questioned as he started to unload.

"Well 'John Smith' is boring, isn't it?"

"But why 'The Doctor'?"

"My brother and I gave each other nicknames when we were young. I was good as fixing things, so he called me The Doctor. I suppose it stuck."

"Doctors fix people," Clara said matter-of-factly. "You fix objects."

A wave of hurt washed over his face momentarily.

"Take it up with my brother."

* * *

Curiosity had got the better of Clara. She was walking around The Doctor's bright blue, box shaped van, looking for any clues about the strange man who was currently sitting in the kitchen explaining to Artie the difference between a Philips head and a Flat head. So far she hadn't found much.

"I wonder," she mused as she reached for the back door handle.

To her shock, it opened. She peered inside and, amongst the various tool boxes and spare parts, saw a pillow and a sleeping bag. It was then that the van started making very angry noises.

"Crap!" she yelled and slammed the door shut. "Crap. I'm sorry! Shhh!"

The Doctor raced out of the front door.

"What did you do to the TARDIS?!" he yelled over the alarm.

"The what?!"

"The TARDIS!"

"Why would you call your van the TARDIS?!"

"It's what her license plate says!"

She turned around. The license plate indeed read 'T4RD15'.

"Well I don't think she likes me!"

"Clearly!" He pulled out his keys and pressed a button. The angry noises stopped.

"Are you living in your van?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"It's bigger than it looks?"

She opened her mouth in pure bewilderment. He made a move to speak but she held up her hand and pulled out her phone. She dialled and put the phone to her ear, mouthing at him to stay while she walked back into the house.

A couple of minutes later she reappeared. Without saying anything she grabbed his hand and led him inside and upstairs. He wasn't sure why, but he let her. They stopped in front of a bedroom.

"What's this?"

"The way I see it, we both have problems. I'm living in a house which is falling apart, and you're living in a van. Maybe we can help each other out." He still looked confused, so she embellished, after a subtle eye-roll. "Mr Maitland can't afford to have everything fixed, so I suggested a trade of sorts. This is your room."


End file.
